


Tiny Dancer

by MsThunderFrost



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Caporegime Thanatos (Hades Video Game), Exotic Dancer Hermes (Hades Video Game), Heart Conditions, M/M, Medical Conditions, Minor Hermes/Perseus (Hades Video Game), Older Man/Younger Man, Past Megaera/Zagreus (Hades Video Game), Prostitute Hermes (Hades Video Game), Prostitution, Sick Children, Stripper Hermes (Hades Video Game), Sugar Daddy Charon (Hades Video Game), Underboss Charon (Hades Video Game)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:08:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29605041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsThunderFrost/pseuds/MsThunderFrost
Summary: There are moments in one’s life that inspire emotions that’re difficult to encapsulate in words. The birth of a child… The loss of a beloved pet…Discovering that your husband of nearly five years had driven you into crippling debt to fuel his ill-contrived affair with his secretary—gods, could he be anymore cliché?—a barely-legal floozy who spent most of her time on the clock tucked away underneath your husband’s desk, sucking his dick.--In which Zagreus pisses off the mob (while also gaining a boyfriend with quite a bit of blood on his hands), and Hermes is left to clean up his cousin's messes.And if cleaning up said messes *also* happens to involve sucking Charon's dick, then, well... that's just the price he's going to have to pay.
Relationships: Charon/Hermes (Hades Video Game), Thanatos/Zagreus (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 44





	Tiny Dancer

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Ish for the idea of making Perseus Hermes' left testicle of an ex-husband <3

“I mean… are you _sure_? Like, swear on a stack of mint condition Sports Illustrated magazines _sure_.” Hermes fidgets, his dark eyes watching the second hand on the clock in the kitchen tick-tick-tick back down to twelve. He is already so unbelievably late, but—

He needs to know, without a shadow of a doubt, that he can trust this man that his cousin has invited over.

Hermes doesn’t have a problem with Zagreus having friends over while he watches Angelia. While Zagreus had a tendency to be a bit… _reckless_ at times, he’d proven himself to be a more than capable babysitter. As far as Hermes is concerned, as long as the apartment was still in one piece, and Angelia was in bed, safe and sound, by nine o’clock (ten, on the weekends), then Zagreus had free reign to do as he pleased. This is the first time that his cousin has ever given him reason to question the blind faith he’d placed in him.

It’s not that he has any real reason to question Zagreus’ judgment—aside from the fact that this… Thanatos character whom he is now apparently _dating_ had tried to kill him less than a month ago. While he was out getting ice cream cones with Angelia, no less. In fact, it was only _because_ of Angelia that the idiot hadn’t gotten a bullet between the eyes. According to Zagreus’ rendition, Thanatos had been about a half-second away from sniping him when Angelia had come back from the bathroom and inquired about the little red dot on his forehead.

Hermes had just about had a heart attack, despite knowing that both his daughter and his idiot cousin were, in fact, safe and sound. He’d then proceeded to throttle Zagreus when, one week later, the younger man had happily proclaimed that he’d caught the hitman _stalking_ him and had decided to ask him out for coffee.

And now he and his… brother? Is Hypnos his brother? He and his… whatever Hypnos is to him… are coming over to help Zagreus babysit. And despite the fact that Zagreus had been very forthcoming about all of this, Hermes is feeling just a _wee_ bit apprehensive about the situation.

He’s also _rapidly_ running out of time to be feeling anything but the wind on his back as he races to work.

“You’ve told him no weapons, right?” He thinks that he might’ve asked that before, if Zagreus’ not-so-subtle eyeroll is any indication. “And that includes pocketknives, tasers, mace… anything that Angelia might be able to get her hands on. Not just guns.” Hermes’ tone brokers no room for argument.

“Look, Than and I already talked about this. He’s putting everything that even has the _potential_ to be dangerous in a chest in the false bottom of his trunk, under lock and key. I promise, there’s _nothing_ to worry about.” Zagreus says.

“What about Hypnos?” Hermes presses. “He knows to lock his weapons up outside of the apartment too?”

His cousin snorts, “They don’t let Hypnos have a gun anymore. Not after he fell asleep with his finger on the trigger and blew off his left middle and ring fingers.” Hermes’ mouth falls open in horror as Zagreus begins to laugh, “D-Don’t worry, though! They were able to reattach the fingers in the nick of time.”

Hermes’ jaw snaps shut with an audible click, “Y’know, believe it or not, that was actually _the last_ thing that was on my mind.” He has… _so many questions._ None of which Zagreus is equipped to answer.

His life… it hadn’t always been like this. Okay, to be fair, his cousin was always making questionable life choices—like getting a hit put out on him for fucking over the consigliere of the largest crime family on this side of the state. Which never would’ve happened if he hadn’t been _literally_ fucking her in the first place. The _point_ was that Hermes didn’t used to have to watch the shitshow unfold in real time—or suffer the consequences of Zagreus’ actions firsthand. There had been a time, before all of this, where Hermes would’ve even dared to call himself _happy_.

But then, well…

There are moments in one’s life that inspire emotions that’re difficult to encapsulate in words. The birth of a child… The loss of a beloved pet…

Discovering that your husband of nearly five years had driven you into crippling debt to fuel his ill-contrived affair with his _secretary_ —gods, could he _be_ anymore cliché?—a barely-legal floozy who spent most of her time on the clock tucked away underneath your husband’s desk, sucking his dick.

The worst part? Hermes never would’ve known, had the pharmacist at the drug store not told him that his credit card had been declined _three days_ after Discover had notified him that they’d received his latest payment. He and his husband, Perseus, had expressly agreed that that card was only to be used for necessities: groceries, gas, and their daughter, Angelia’s, heart medication. For it to already be maxed out was unthinkable. And so he’d asked the pharmacist to run the card again… and again… and again… until, cheeks flushed hot with embarrassment, he’d taken his daughter and rushed out of the store. He’d sat in the car for thirty minutes and _sobbed_.

He’d been unable to access the app to check the recent activity on the card. At the time, he’d thought he’d just been too upset to enter the password properly—he would later discover that Perseus had changed the password without his knowledge, in an effort to keep him from seeing the new transactions as they rolled in. He’d called Discover, concerned about fraud. A representative had told him that the card had been used to purchase over $500 in lingerie at Victoria’s Secret. Another several hundred dollars had been spent at a ridiculously expensive restaurant, with a name Hermes could never dream of pronouncing. More still had been spent at a _jeweler_ …

It didn’t take much work to find that it wasn’t _just_ the Discover card that’d been maxed out.

Perseus had taken out a second, and then a _third_ mortgage on the house—which were in default. The electric bill hadn’t been paid in _months_ , and the city was threatening to shut off their water. The bank was threatening to repossess their car… The list went on, and on, and _on_. Hermes had been so overcome with emotion, all he could do was sit there and stare. His entire world had been reduced to a staggering number, spread out across too-white pages dotted with blood-red ink spelling out the word OVERDUE. How could he _ever_ hope to come up with that kind of money in time to keep a roof over their heads and food in their bellies and… and…

_If Perseus had been surprised to learn that he’d been found out, he certainly didn’t show it. Instead, he’d regarded the mess he’d left Hermes with a cool, calm serenity that Hermes both envied and despised. “…I want a divorce.”_

_Hermes had swallowed hard, before nodding. “O-Okay…”_

_Perseus had been unimpressed, “Okay? That’s all you have to say?” Hermes hadn’t known what he meant, not at the time. It was hard enough reminding himself to breathe—to fight against the overwhelming urge to go curl up in a ball and… and.. “Ordinarily, you can’t keep that slutty little mouth of yours shut.”_

_Hermes stiffened, tears blurring his vision. His eyes ached from all of the tears that he’d already shed. “No, I… I really don’t have anything else to say to you.”_

_“Pity.” He’d given Hermes a patronizing pat on the cheek, grabbing his briefcase from where Hermes had knocked it over in the course of his earlier search. “Then, I’ll have my lawyer draw up the paperwork.”_

He hadn’t known what he planned on paying him with. The twelve dollars that were left in their joint bank account wouldn’t even put a _dent_ in their lawyer’s retainer fee. Not that Hermes knew much about that… He’d worked in college, of course, but… well, after Angelia had been born, and they’d discovered her heart defect, he’d become a full-time househusband. And he’d loved every minute of it. But now, well… he could admit that it had left him woefully unprepared to handle hundreds of thousands of dollars of debt, a child whose condition required round-the-clock observation and thousands of dollars’ worth of medication—which, of course, wasn’t covered by insurance…

“Earth to Hermes,” Hermes blinks, coming back to the present just as Zagreus starts snapping his fingers in front of his face. “Are you sure that you’re alright to head into work tonight, mate? You seem a little out of it.”

“Fine. I’m fine.” Hermes flashes a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I just… I’m half-tempted to stick around a little while longer, just to make sure that they stick to their word. It’s not that I don’t trust you to vouch for them, but…” He doesn’t know them, and he certainly doesn’t _trust_ them—and this is his baby.

“What’re you going to do, give them pat downs as they walk through the door?” Zagreus rolls his eyes, “Look, if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll call them up now and tell them not to come over. But Angie’ll totally be bummed, because Than promised to pick up pizza— _and_ let her paint his nails.”

“Oh, gods…” Much as he loves his child, her nail-painting skills are on par with most five-year-olds. Meaning that they are virtually nonexistent.

“Oh, I plan to send you pictures of the paintjob.” He waggles his fingers, “She told me that she’s gonna try and convince him to go pink. I don’t think it’ll work, but if she hits him with those puppy dog eyes of hers, who knows?”

Hermes glances at his own glittering fingernails, “If Than doesn’t go for it, maybe I’ll ask her to do mine before my next shift.” It won’t be the best paintjob in the world, but it’ll be better than the chipped mess he’s sporting now. His eyes, unintentionally, linger on the place where his wedding ring had sat, once upon a time…

Zagreus delicately clears his throat, “’dite is gonna be pissed if you’re late again, mate.”

“R-Right!”

Angelia is sleeping, sprawled out on the couch at Zagreus’ side. She’s been sleeping a lot more lately… the doctor tells him that it’s just a side-effect of her medication, that it’s nothing to worry about, but… well, worrying seems to be the only thing he’s particularly good at. Ever since the bank had foreclosed on their home and they’d been forced to move into a one-bedroom apartment in one of his Uncle Hades’ rent-controlled buildings, he’d done nothing _but_ worry. Every day, he received dozens of phone calls from bill collectors, some threatening legal action if they didn’t immediately receive the full amount they were due…

He doesn’t know what to do. Even with tips from the club, he’s still barely scraping by. Almost all of his money goes to paying for Angelia’s medication, which is more important than any of his other bills. If he can’t pay for that, then… He shakes his head. Thinking about it will only upset him, and he can’t afford to ruin his make-up.

It’s already a half-hour walk to the club. It’d be a three minute drive, but… well… he didn’t have a car.

Hermes presses a kiss to Angelia’s forehead, before rushing out the door. He’s already late—any later, and he’ll be testing the limits of Aphrodite’s already limited patience.

The club isn’t located in the best part of town. It’s not _unsafe_ , exactly. Not if you know how to handle yourself, at least. In the beginning, Hermes had been far too trusting and had nearly gotten mugged walking home after a particularly lucrative shift. The club’s bouncer, Ares, had walked him home for two weeks afterward—had even bought him a little cannister of mace, and shown him how to slip his keys in-between his fingers to add a little bit of _bite_ to his punch. Hermes had learned to keep small change in his pockets—a handful of fives and a few crocodile tears usually dissuaded most would-be robbers from pressing further.

He kept the bigger bills close to the vest. He couldn’t afford to be forking over twenties that could be used to pay for his daughter’s medicine.

“Hermes!” He’s barely in the front door when Aphrodite, the club’s manager, is waving him over. Her long, pink hair is piled high on top of her head in a messy bun, with slightly curled strands falling down into her pale face. “Just the man that I’m looking for… I have a job for you.”

She’s holding a garishly pink key fob—the soft, slightly squishy material vaguely forming the shape of a heart. The key unlocks one of the back rooms in the club. “’dite… I’m not a prostitute.”

“Of course you’re not.” She responds, in a tone which implies that she doesn’t believe that at all. “Look, all I’m saying is that there’s a whopping two grand on the table, if you take this key and go drool on some old bastard’s cock.”

Hermes chokes a little, “T-Two grand?” Aphrodite _has_ to be joking. There’s no way that one of the others wouldn’t have already attended to a client offering _that much_ for a simple blowjob. He shifts a little, his eyes lingering on the key, “…Why’re you offering this to me?”

Aphrodite lets out a long-suffering sigh, “Because I figured I could finally put that mouth of yours to good use.” He flinches a little, “Because the bastard asked for you specifically. And he didn’t seem like the sort that was willing to sit around answering twenty questions.”

But that didn’t make any sense. All of the club regulars knew that he waited tables and, occasionally, stripped when the tips were particularly light. _Maybe_ he’d been persuaded to give a lapdance or two, but he’d never… never entertained the idea of doing anything so intimate in exchange for money. Even if the two grand he was offering was _awfully_ tempting… something tells him that he should turn around and head back out the door, that whatever is waiting for him in that back room is so much more dangerous than the muggers that lined the alleyways late at night.

He swallows hard, “…Are you sure you couldn’t just send someone else? Like Apollo?”

“Apollo doesn’t need an extra two grand.” She presses the key into his hand. Hermes’ fingers instinctively curl around the fuzzy key fob. “Now… are you going to head back there or not?”


End file.
